Kryptonite
by schmackie
Summary: Kurt's sophomore year had so far been the worst and best year of his life. full summary inside. skank!Kurt/badboy!Blaine
1. Chapter 1

_Kurt's sophomore year had so far been the worst and best year of his life. Quitting the Cheerios was a decision made in the best interest and his new friends and pink hair and piercings complimented his new lifestyle perfectly, and nothing is making Kurt want to turn back to the preppy lifestyle of sleepovers and shopping trips with the Cheerios. Not the way that the Skanks and the Guys can keep his mind off of September. Not the way that the illegal activities are a perfect distraction from his dad's new girlfriend and her jock son that Kurt has the true blessing of calling his classmate. And especially not the new boy with the motorcycle._

* * *

"_Shit,_ baby. You're so _tight," _came the slurred voice from the man behind him.

Kurt cocked his head back, eyeing the man with a sultry stare as he rocked his hips back to quicken the teasingly slow pace. The man reached up and twined his fingers through the pink streaks at the front of his coiffed hair and Kurt whimpered at the tug. The man forced his head to face forward and began to thrust faster, squishing Kurt's face into the bathroom stall door while babbling incessant dirty talk. Kurt tightened his grip on the top of the stall door, allowing his hips to press farther back into the probing thrusts and his rings to dig into his flesh as his knuckles turned white. His mouth was frozen open, whimpers and moans cascading from it like a waterfall.

The thrusts behind him grew needier and he clenched around the hot throbbing inside of him.

"Shit baby, you like that? You like the way my big cock fills you up?" He groaned with an _unf_, his babbling falling onto deaf ears, "Filling up that tight little hole of yours. Mm baby you'll be feeling this tomorrow…"

_God would this guy just shut up?_ Kurt wondered, just wanting release. He began swiveling his hips just slightly trying to find that—_oh god there it is._

Kurt didn't bother to stifle the noises that were bubbling up from his mouth, popping with each needy entry that the slick stiffness demanded with each thrust. The dirty talk completely evaded his ears when he brought one hand down from the door and fisted his leaking cock. With a few more fast strokes, Kurt was coming in his hand, clenching down hard around the throbbing length in his ass. The man thrust harder into his twitching hole. Kurt was becoming too sensitive, so he clenched harder and immediately felt the familiar gulping feeling with the slight twitch as the man halted and allowed his orgasm to consume him.

When he came to, the man pulled out quickly, not noticing Kurt wince. He slid off the condom and tied it off. He reached around Kurt to unlock the stall door, letting it swing out. He slid around Kurt, tossed the used condom into the trash and fixed his pants. Kurt, still propped up against the stall, panted, trying to regain steady breathing. The man walked towards the door, readjusting the bandanna over his ponytail and averting his eyes, before muttering a quiet and slurred _later babe_ and slipping back into the bar.

Kurt peeled himself off the stall door and moved to the sink. He washed himself off in silence, situated his pants and rebuckled his belt. He finally looked into the dirty cracked mirror. His eyeliner was smeared and his hair had deflated from the sweat. He took another paper towel to dab at the faint gray smudges under his eyes and ran wet fingers through the pink streaked hair at the front of his scalp to get some of the height back. Kurt sighed as he took in his tinted cheeks and tightened one of the studs in his ears. His lips quirked at his slightly damp raspberry v-neck, hoping he didn't smell too badly of sex. He knew his dad wouldn't be awake when he came home but he still hated going to sleep with the smell of a stranger absorbed into his skin. His eyes caught to a purpling mark under his left ear and he gingerly pressed into the tender skin. He'll just have to wear a scarf tomorrow and take the shit that the Skanks were going to say about it, just like they always did.

Kurt left the bathroom and walked straight towards the bar's exit with an empty ache in his backside, feeling the post-orgasmic haze drag his feet and droop his eyelids. After letting the cold night air reawaken him a bit, Kurt pulled a pack of Menthol Lights out of his front pocket and fumbled with the lighter. After a few pathetic attempts from the pitiful flame that arose from the bic, the stick caught. The familiar burning in his lungs was nothing to the throbbing ache of his lower back and ass.

_Just another one_ he thought, letting the cigarette calm his nerves which always seemed to be on end. Kurt leaned against the dark brick wall of Scandals, taking another long drag of his cigarette. He hated the walk home, where he would have to sort of waddle and stick his butt out so that the raw pain wouldn't be too much for him. But the pain, he always had to remind himself, was what he was looking for. Because if he let anyone give it to him hard, then what did one stupid guy matter? _He didn't_ Kurt reminded himself again.

He stamped out his cigarette and set off for the forty-five minute walk home. Kurt popped his headphones into his ears, letting the new music that Sheila had put on his iPod drown out his thoughts. He tugged his leather jacket tighter to his body to protect himself from the late night wind chill as he lost himself in the metronomic throbbing of his ass in time with his heartbeat, the _left right left right left_ patterned thud of his combat boots on the asphalt, and the four count bass line of the new music blasting into his head.

.:.

Sipping his bitter coffee and using the counter as a kickstand, Kurt waited for the text from Ronnie signaling she was there to pick him up for school.

"Sure you don't want something to eat, kid?" His dad asked through a mouthful of honey nut cheerios that Kurt forced him to eat, not bothering to look up from the newspaper or his own coffee.

"I told you I'm fine, dad," Kurt reminded him. Just then, his phone buzzed with a _here skank_ popping up on the screen. "Ronnie's here. I'll see you later." Kurt leaned down to give his father a kiss on the cheek before he slipped his jacket on and grabbed his backpack. He slipped his black wayfarers on as the late February sun gleamed in his eyes.

Sheila was already waiting outside the car with the passenger seat of the tattered Yugo compacted forward so he could sneak in the backseat next to Quinn and Mack. Sheila gave him a knowing smirk when she noticed his slight waddle and the thin scarf wrapped around his neck.

Once they were all situated, Ronnie pulled off leaving a loud thumping bass in their wake.

.:.

Kurt hadn't really minded school before. In fact, he used to like coming to school. Last year he'd been a part of the Cheerios, as had Quinn, and he'd had a good group of them to support him when he came out. He missed them a bit, but he knew this was for the better. At least he still had Quinn.

He looked around at the early morning chaos, looking for his two former best friends, Santana and Brittany. Kurt searched for the two cheerleaders linked by the pinkies, wincing when he found them flirting with Hudson, Azimio, Karofsky, and some other letterman jackets. Sure those asshole footballers made his life hell, but Karofsky—

_No_ Kurt stopped himself. He wasn't going to think about that again. He was having a nice morning. He had just gotten laid last night and thankfully global warming ensured that the last snowfall had already melted off the school grounds so the skanks' spot under the bleachers would finally be dry again.

In the mornings they always hung out in McKinley's courtyard with the rest of the school. Well it was sort of a courtyard; the fourth wall was nonexistent, but opened up to the McKinley High parking lot. The Skanks hung out there in order to find a new person or group to torment for the week. Kurt was propped up against the brick wall, one booted foot relieving the pressure on his lower back. He took another drag from his cigarette while Ronnie and Mack were debating whether or not to risk Mack's fake ID again or shame themselves in asking Puck to get the vodka they needed for their Friday night Skank bonding.

"I got caught last time, though."

"Yeah because you didn't show any skin when you were actually buying it," Sheila reminded her.

"No, it was because it was some prude chick. I don't get why we can't just ask Puck and the guys to get it," Mack suggested again.

"No," Quinn responded immediately, "We can do it ourselves. We don't need Puck—"

"What about me?" Puck slid up draping his arm over Quinn's shoulders with a cocky grin etched on his features, Sam and Mike not far behind him. Puck, Mike, and Sam had their own group dynamic. They hung out and drank the alcohol they attained with their fake IDs, tagged the brick wall behind the school and overpasses, and the rumor mill had recently churned out something about illegal drugs. They got their kicks by torturing the bandos, the synchronized swimming team, the glee club, and almost any organized team or group at McKinley. They had a quite a bit in common with the Skanks and one day after both groups had the idea to throw garbage at the Cheerios from the roof during their practice, they hung around each other and a twisted friendship was formed.

Mack turned to him and grabbed his arm, interlocking their fingers and pressing herself so close to him that his bicep was shoved against her exposed cleavage. "We need you to get some stuff for us this weekend," Mack begged sweetly, batting her eyes, "please, baby?"

"No," Quinn rejected the idea again, sliding out from underneath's Puck's embrace. "We don't need Puckerman's help." She insisted, "Mack can just use her fake again."

"If she gets caught again, Quinny, you have to get your eyebrow pierced." Sheila wagered from the wall next to Kurt.

Betting with piercings and tattoos was sort of their _thing_ as The Skanks. Quinn not being able to hold her alcohol was how she got her nose pierced. Ronnie saying she could get more numbers than Mack at the gay and lesbian bar they went to in the Cincinnati was the source of the tattoo of fuzzy dice on the back of her neck. Sheila's rising gage millimeter was caused only by her inability to take as many shots as the rest of them. Kurt was forced to get a little black and white bow-tie-wearing penguin tattoo behind his right ear after insisting that his fake ID would work, even though his tiny 5'6 frame could in no parallel universe pass for over 21. Kurt and Quinn's pink hair had resounded from a lost game of beer pong against Puck and Mike. It was how they became as close as they were.

"Deal," Quinn accepted immediately. Kurt smirked around his cigarette, already silently agreeing to hold her hand when she would have to deal with a needle near her eye.

Puck had opened his mouth to comment, but the entire conversation was cut short at the reverberating rumble of a motorcycle engine resonating through the courtyard. The whole school gaped at the Harley Davidson skidding into the painted stripes at the end of an aisle of cars, in lieu of the open spot not thirty yards away. "Who is _that_?" Mack asked what everyone else was thinking. No one could tear their eyes from the head of thick curls that was walking into the courtyard, pulling out a pack of cigarettes. He took up residence leaning against one of the light posts, pulling out his zippo light and taking a long drag. No one noticed as Jacob Ben Israel walked up with an outstretched microphone and his camera crew on his tail.

"I'm here with Blaine Anderson, McKinley's newest student," JBI prompted to the camera before turning back to the reflective Aviator sunglasses. "Blaine, is it true that you were expelled from Westerville High for setting your math teacher on fire?" New kid's face remained mysterious behind his dark sunglasses.

No one got to hear an answer as the warning bell rang, signaling ten minutes until classes begin. Only half of the crowd headed into the school, the half that feared tardiness and detention .

"He's hot," Mack announced to no one in particular. Kurt couldn't help but agree, but he knew better than to say so aloud. He got teased enough for being gay. He didn't need the whole school to know he had a crush on the new straight guy. Even if he was really hot.

"You better get on that fast if you want it. Santana's already circling." Puck nodded toward the Latina who was in fact eyeing up the new kid. They watched on as she swayed her hips hypnotically with each step. She looped her arms around his neck and the hand that didn't have a cigarette perched in it fell immediately to her ass. Her glossed lips whispered into his ear and he gave her a little twirl. In the blink of an eye he had her back pressed flush against his chest. The new kid whispered something in her ear before he shoved her away with a smack on her ass. Santana looked livid as she made her way back to the group of letterman jackets.

Kurt watched as the whole group of jocks eyed the new kid menacingly while Santana recounted what had just happened. He hadn't noticed when the new kid had moved, but when he walked by the group of the Skanks with his sunglasses tucked behind the collar of his gray t-shirt, Mack was quickly trailing him with a _Hey! New kid!_

Kurt's eyes were still on the swarm of letterman jackets. They all looked pissed and there was something about their eyes, but he couldn't pin point _what_ exactly. He was pulled out of his trance when Sheila called out to him, "You comin', boy?" He pushed off the wall to follow the Skanks into the school.

.:.

Kurt separated from his friends and went to his locker. Kurt had most of his classes with at least one of the Skanks or Puck and the guys. His locker, however, was on the other side of school. He was switching out his notebooks when he heard a familiar voice shouting from down the hall.

"Hey faggot," Karofsky called. Kurt braced himself. He knew what was coming. Any second, Karofsky would slam his locker shut and toss him into the row of lockers across the hall. Any second…

Kurt was confused when he didn't feel the looming presence that was Neanderthal behind him. He quickly whipped his head down the hall and strained his neck to see where his tormentor had gone. He found the towering idiot accompanied by Azimio stopped in front of someone else. Kurt couldn't tell who. Azimio was talking to a thick head of curls while Karovksy was pounding his fist threateningly.

Who had they called faggot? As far as Kurt knew, that name had been reserved for him since he had started high school. He had also been accustomed to being the only out kid at the school, so it was safe to say he was thoroughly confused.

Kurt placed his sunglasses on the top shelf of his locker before shutting it quietly. He needed to get a better look. He blended into the crowd while walking so that the footballers wouldn't see him. He stopped in a little alcove where a janitor's closet was buried and perched himself seemingly uncaring against the wall. He still had an image to uphold, and even if his bad attitude didn't fool the football team, it still told the rest of the school to steer clear. Kurt watched the exchange out of the corner of his eye.

He finally got a glimpse of who the new recipient was and—_what?_ Why were Azimio and Karofsky calling the hot new kid a fag? That didn't make any sense. Unless…

Kurt strained his ears, to listen what was going on.

"…your kind around here. Don't go looking for some butt buddy. You even check out another guy and we'll kick your ass." The new kid looked around in disbelief, his quirked eyebrows asking _are these guys for real?_

Kurt's breath hitched when the new kid did a double take in his direction, but he did his best to look nonchalant.

New guy's attention was forced back to the two towering figures in front of him when Azimio's oversized bear paw shoved him. "Hey, homo. We're talking to you."

"Z, I think we need to teach this fairy a lesson." Karovksy cracked his knuckles.

"I think you're right." Before the two could respond, new kid threw a punch square into Karvosky's jaw. Azimio sputtered when he saw his friend fall to the floor clutching his face, so he didn't realize when new guy was winding up to give him the same treatment. When Azimio went down, Karofsky came up and soon the three were a tangle of flailing fists. Kurt looked around and noticed a crowd forming. After a couple minutes, Mr. Schuester, the Spanish teacher, came to break up the fight.

Schuester pulled back the new kid and Kurt saw his lip was split and he had the beginnings of a black eye. Dammit, why did Kurt find that sexy? Karofsky and Azimio sputtered at each other for an excuse to give the awaiting teacher. New kid's eyes caught Kurt's again and with a wink, the split lips smirked at him. Wow, the kid had some nice eyes, like a golden honey brown, even though Kurt could only see one of them since the other was quickly swelling shut. Kurt couldn't tear his eyes away. New kid's eyes traveled down his body and then back up. Kurt let his eyes wander as well, allowing himself to stare just a bit at the way his t-shirt clung to the dips of his muscles and the way his thick thighs worked the denim of his dark jeans taught.

Kurt was pulled out of the staring contest when Karofsky noticed him staring at Blaine, "What are you looking at, faggot? Blaine ripped out of Mr. Schuester's grip and lunged at the football player again. Three sets of fists flew in a rage while Mr. Schuester tried to break up the trio again.

Ronnie came up and nudged him. "Ready for history?"

"Yeah," Kurt slipped away, not turning back to give the new kid nor the forming spectacle a second glance. Even if new kid _was_ interested, Kurt didn't do that. _Regulars._ Kurt didn't even sleep with the same guy more than once, let alone someone he would see on a regular basis. And god forbid a _boyfriend._ It was one of his rules. But new kid was definitely gay. And there was something about him that had Kurt hooked. The Neanderthals wouldn't have confronted him if he wasn't gay. Right?

Kurt slipped into his seat behind Mack just as the bell rang, Ronnie next to Mack. Mack immediately turned sideways and began discussing the new kid.

"Did you hear about the way he took on Karofsky and Azimio? He held his own against two of the biggest guys in the school."

"Impressive. Could be even more badass than Puckerman." Ronnie agreed.

"Don't say that in front of Puck," Sam turned around in front of Mack. "Doesn't matter if you're a girl, he'll kick your ass."

"What? Are you jealous, Glitter?" Sam rolled his eyes at the dig at his profession.

"No, but that was a pretty sick fight. If he can hold his own like that he must be pretty cool. But Puck is still champion. No one can top the time he beat up the entire hockey team on his own."

"And the time he set one of the tubas in the band on fire." Mack added.

"Classic," Ronnie agreed before asking, "Why did they even fight?"

Mack rolled her eyes and slumped in her seat. "Sexy new boy is gay. There's no hope for any of us." She sat up before pulling a compact and black eyeliner out of her bag. "Except Kurtie."

Kurt stayed silent. So New Boy definitely was gay.

"Nah, our little penguin likes the older guys," Sam injected. "Right, Kurtie?"

"Speaking of our little baby penguin," Ronnie turned towards Kurt with a knowing glint in her eye. "How was last night?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Kurt denied. He unconsciously shifted in his seat, wincing at the ache in his ass.

Mack pulled herself around so she was facing him with a cocked eyebrow, "Oh come on, Hummel. That scarf isn't hiding anything."

"I happen to like accessorizing thank you very much." Kurt defended.

"Take it off, Hummel. You know the rules," Ronnie proffered her hand and gave a 'come hither' motion to the offending scarf. Kurt reluctantly unwrapped it, revealing the purpled mark on his pulse point.

"What was the wager?" Sam wondered.

"Little Kurtie gets his cartilage pierced." Mack smiled before going back to touching up her makeup. Kurt decided he could get his piercing done when Quinn inevitably would have to get her eyebrow.

Finally Mr. Gallery came into the room and began the lesson and Kurt immediately began daydreaming, although instead of longing for a job at Vogue, performing on Broadway, or just getting out of Cow Town, Ohio like his normal daydreams, his thoughts consisted of tight jeans, a swollen eye and a motorcycle. Ohio just got a little more interesting.


	2. Chapter 2

Kurt fiddled with his lock, twisting the combination and lifting the latch. It was lunch time already; the morning had gone by quickly. The buzz from the arrival of the new kid and the fight he had already gotten into was racing through the school like a river of drama and rumors. Kurt had spent his time reminiscing on the way too-tight jeans stretched around foreign thighs, split pink lips smirked through trickling blood, and honey brown eyes disappeared behind lust-blown pupils.

Kurt hung his bag on the hook and grabbed the sunglasses from the top shelf and perched them on top of his head. He grabbed his leather jacket and was about to slide his arms into the sleeves when the object of his recent daydreams caught his eye.

New guy was walking down the hallway. His pace significantly slowed down when he caught Kurt's eye and he didn't bother to hide the fact that he was blatantly checking out Kurt. Kurt tried to suppress the flush threatening to creep up in his cheeks at the perusal. He wasn't used to guys checking him out like this. Yes, when he went to Scandals, guys would buy him drinks and dance up on him and he knew how to tease when the situation called for it, but he was in a different mindset when he went looking for it. And the liquid courage helped. He wasn't prepared for this attention at school, especially from the admittedly gorgeous new kid.

But now, those smoldering eyes—well, eye and a half because his left eye was still swollen from the fight—were looking right at him with a calculating stare that sent a shiver down Kurt's spine. He peeled his eyes away from the retreating form of the new guy, closed his locker, and meandered down a hallway toward the cafeteria. He spotted Sheila waiting for him at her own locker and she fell into step beside him towards the lunchroom, immediately unraveling a plan about how to bend all the slides on the trombones so the marching band couldn't play.

They moved to the salad line discussing the new music that she had recommended to him. They paid with their stolen lunch money and went to the table where the other Skanks were seated.

"—and then Ms. Doosenbury walked in and saw us and sent us to Figgins' office. I was going to just ignore her but the chick started to leave so I had to go." Puck was recounting the story of how he had landed himself in detention for next week to Mike, Ronnie, and Quinn.

On the other side of the table, Mack was still fawning over the new kid. "I saw him leave the principal's office. I don't know what it is about a black eye that just gets me going, but—"

"Mack, keep it in your pants." Sam urged her.

"Yeah," Sheila agreed, "wasn't you the one to tell us he's gay anyway?"

"Doesn't mean he doesn't want to get his Mack on under the bleachers," She quipped with a shrug of her shoulders.

Sam shook his head in amused disbelief. "I think Kurt has a better chance of getting some from him than you do."

"Kurt already got some last night, didn't he?" Puck interrupted. Kurt ducked slightly and scolded the blush threatening to peek on the apples of his cheeks. "Oh come on, Hummel, you can't act like we can't tell with you waddling like a freaking penguin."

"And trying to hide the battle scars with that scarf," Sam teased.

"At least what I'm getting isn't interrupted by a middle aged geography teacher," Kurt retorted with a mockingly sympathetic grin. Puck was always way too interested in his sex life. He suspected the Skanks were also intrigued in how exactly Kurt found these willing men, but they knew better than to ask around Puck and that Kurt would tell them what he wanted to during their weekly Skank bonding nights.

"Would you let the New Guy give it to you, Kurtie?" Puck asked tauntingly, his eyebrows wagging suggestively and his piercing bouncing in tandem.

Surprisingly, Mack defended him, "Puck, you _know_ Kurt doesn't bother with high school boys."

"And he lets older men mark him up, and _brand_ him," Sheila teased, tugging at his scarf and revealing the red bruise.

"When are you gonna get your piercing, Kurt?" Quinn asked.

"I was actually going to wait until later this week so I could get mine when you get your eyebrow done," Kurt smiled knowingly, waiting for her to get upset.

"Kurt," She huffed, "Mack's ID is going to work. We're gonna get the stuff for this weekend so that these assholes won't have to intrude on our bonding night like they did last week and the week before."

"And I'll be there to hold your hand when that big needle is right next to your eye," Kurt innocently shrugged his shoulders, finishing off the last of his salad.

"Oh _please_," Quinn continued to banter playfully with her best friend, "Kurt you had tears in your eyes when you got that tattoo over Christmas break." The whole table rose to their feet and all meandered to the garbage cans to throw their trays out, Puck tripping a Mathlete along the way.

"Aw, was Kurtie scared for his first tattoo?" Mike threw an affectionate arm around Kurt's shoulders.

Kurt just rolled his eyes as they all made their way out to their spot under the bleachers for the second half of their lunch hour. Quinn, Sheila, and Ronnie took up the big couch while Puck and Mike sat on the love seat with Mack rested on the arm. Sam paced lackadaisically while Kurt took up his normal perch on the middle supporting beam of the metal grandstands. Almost all at once, they pulled out their cigarettes and flicked their lighters. Kurt's took a few tries before a pitiful flame peeked out from the tip. He made a mental note to pick up another at the gas station.

"Did you guys see Karofsky's face?" Ronnie commented conversationally.

"_Yes_," Mack chimed in, loving the gossip and drama of the day. "He's gonna have a pretty purple bruise on his cheek for the next week."

"That new guy seems pretty cool," Sam offered before he took a drag.

"I invited him to chill with us after school," Puck said with weak breath, letting the smoke linger in his lungs as long as possible.

"You _what_?" Mack asked with excitement in her eyes.

"Yeah," Puck returned casually, "I was talking to him for a bit in Figgins' office this morning. He's pretty chill."

"What did you guys talk about?" Mike asked.

.:.

_"Well, we could do it in the girls' bathroom if it'll make you feel better," Puck offered. To be honest he forgot her name, but that didn't matter when he could probably get a hand job before second period. His blow job in the courtyard before the warning bell even rang was legendary at McKinley, but he wasn't going to say no to a quick handy in the bathroom. "Come on, baby, it'll be worth it."_

_Puck could be very persuasive. All he had to do was dip his chin so his lashes were fanned out proudly accentuating his eyes and then pout his lips just slightly. He could literally hear the girls swoon over him, and this girl was no exception. Before he knew it she was tugging him along by the sleeve of his leather jacket into the nearest girl's room._

_Puck quickly had her pinned to the wall, her leg inching up his calf while his hands wandered around her body. Her hands were just reaching his belt buckle when the door squeaked and they suddenly had an audience. Their voyeur was none other than Ms. Doosenbury, the senior European Geography teacher, who had caught Puck in this exact position no less than seven times. It was safe to say she was fed up with Puck's insatiable libido._

_"Puckerman, Gunderson, Figgins' office. Now." Ms. Doosenbury sighed with a finger pointed sharply towards the door. Puck was all too ready to ignore her and was already lowering his head back to the girl's neck when she dropped her leg and slipped out from beneath him. Ms. Doosenbury gave a disapproving look to Puck who swaggered out of the room, rearranging his junk in his jeans with a cocky smirk on his face._

_Puck sauntered into the main office and slunk into the bench, immediately propping his feet up on the strategically placed coffee table covered in old magazines; he was sent to the principal's office quite often and knew how to make himself comfortable. Mrs. Cahill, the secretary, barely acknowledged his entry and just told him that Figgins would be a couple minutes. The girl from before was already in the Vice Principal's office. Puck rested his hands behind his head and settled further into the cushions, looking over to peer into the glass windows that partitioned the office to see it full._

_He was just about to doze off for a quick nap when the door to the office swung open and a kid with a busted lip and a swelling eye emerged. His barred teeth muffled the frustrated grunt that he let out when he slumped down on the bench next to Puck. He touched a finger to the cut on his lips and swore to himself at the twinge of pain and when he pulled his finger back and saw the streak of red._

_"Shit."_

_"That's nothing compared to your eye," Puck told him. The guy tenderly felt up the rapidly swelling flesh underneath his left eye and winced._

_Puck turned to see who else was in the office and placed the faces as two of his former teammates, Azimio and Karofsky._

_"Wait, you took a pounding from both of them and only came out with a busted lip and a black eye?" Puck asked incredulously._

_"Not what I normally define as _taking a pounding_ but I guess so._ _ Bunch of pricks who can't throw a punch," New guy mumbled._

_"Yeah, they're only good for tackling linebackers. They don't know anything about fighting," Puck turned back to the New Kid, eyeing his leather jacket and combat boots. He seemed cool enough. And if he could hold his own against two of the biggest guys in school, then Puck had to be impressed. He stuck out a fist, "Puck."_

_New Kid eyed it and quickly glanced up to meet Puck's stare before bumping Puck's fist with his own, while he returned with, "Blaine."_

_Maybe it was because the leather jacket and boots fit the image of Puck and his Boys._

_Maybe it was because he didn't want to be on this guy's bad side._

_Maybe it was because his mom made him go to Temple yesterday and guilt tripped him into feeling like a bad Jew._

_Maybe it was because Mike spent all his free time with that other Asian chick in the glee club (buncha nerds)._

_Maybe it was because Sam spent thirty hours a week at the ladies' bar stripping as 'White Chocolate.'_

_Maybe he just liked to stay unpredictable._

_But he didn't second guess himself when offered the New Kid—_Blaine_—to hang out with his boys and the Skanks after school today._

_Blaine responded with a _yeah maybe_ and then Puck was called into the Vice Principal's office._

.:.

Just as Puck finished his story, the bell rang and Kurt smudged the smoldering remains of his cigarette into the pole he was leaning on before tossing it in the direction of the garbage can. They all headed back inside, for their afternoon classes with a bit of wary excitement about the newbie joining them.


End file.
